Fried Milk: A Crunchy, Ooze-Filled Delicacy (Published 2008) (2024)

IN China, it’s called zha xian nai or chow lai; in India, gulab jamun; in Spain, leche frita and in Italy, latte dolce fritto or crema fritta, depending on where you are. Translated, they all mean the same thing: fried milk.

No, this is not a concoction created by molecular gastronomists, but rather a centuries-old street food with variations throughout the world and, increasingly, on local menus.

Order chow lai in Guandong in southern China, and you are likely to get a mixture of shrimp, chicken liver and Chinese ham stir-fried with custardy milk and egg whites. But in northern China, zha xian nai is a sweet crispy treat with a milky, pudding-like center, placed on the side of the savory plate to keep children happy while adults dine.

The Italians enjoy two versions of fried milk: latte dolce fritto, sweet fried milk, popular in central and southern Italy, and its close cousin, crema fritta, or fried cream.

The names may be exotic, but most versions of fried milk are essentially the same. Milk, or some form of milk, is turned into a custard with the help of flour, cornstarch and eggs. In some parts of China, milk is curdled with ginger. The custard or curd is then breaded and fried. The result is a delicate, crispy snack with an unexpectedly warm custard- or mousse-like center. Bite into a piece of fried milk, and you’ll first notice the crunch of the breaded shell, then the contrast of a soft, velvety center that sometimes oozes into your mouth.

Its appeal is easy to understand, said Pichet Ong, the chef and the owner of P*Ong. Mr. Ong, who is also working on his own version of ginger fried milk, sums it up neatly: “Everyone loves fried food, and everyone loves milk, so why not fried milk?”

At Pamplona restaurant on East 28th Street in Manhattan, the fried milk is a leche frita inspired by memories of another classic Spanish dessert. “We used to make a traditional leche frita, but it was too heavy in spices, so I thought what if you cross crema catalana with leche frita?” said Alex Ureña, the executive chef and owner.

Mr. Ureña replaces the warm dark spices found in the traditional leche frita with bright citrus flavors of crema catalana, and he binds the milk with gelatin instead of flour. The result is a lighter version of the popular Spanish street food: warm, runny citrus cinnamon cream encased in a light panko shell. Akhtar Nawab is also redefining an age-old version of fried milk, at Elettaria. His fried milk doughnuts were derived from gulab jamun, a popular Indian sweet made with dehydrated milk and rosewater syrup. He serves them with ginger custard and chai ice cream, modernizes the dessert by swapping a portion of dehydrated milk with whole milk and cutting the sweetness by decreasing the time the doughnut soaks in rosewater syrup.

With a savory take, Bar Q serves garlic fried milk as a side dish for marinated lamb. Paying homage to the snack found in Hong Kong sweet shops, the chef, Anita Lo, developed her recipe when she was working at the restaurant Mirezi in the mid ’90s.

“I was reluctant to bring it back,” Ms. Lo wrote in an e-mail. “But people who I’ve been cooking for from Mirezi days have been asking for it, and the dish fits with the Asian theme.”

Revital Melech, pastry chef at Abboccato in Midtown, echoes the sentiment. The chocolate crema fritta she serves was originally created for a Piedmont wine dinner several years ago, and her customers loved it so much that she kept it on the menu.

Paired with caramelized bananas, wafers and house-made sour cream, the dessert seems to many customers to be a grown-up version of a banana split. (Home cooks can get the dish closer to its rustic roots by serving the bananas and sour cream on the side.)

Ms. Melech is experimenting with the pairing, using an herb sorbet. But no matter how refined its co-star, fried milk will still get top billing.